


Single Player Only

by lazarusthefirst



Series: Trope bingo [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 3b canon divergence, F/M, Future Fic, Malia's a hero, Time Travel, Vaginal Sex, but then
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 07:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2301035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarusthefirst/pseuds/lazarusthefirst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Malia got sent back in time, and ended up saving the day without anyone ever knowing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Single Player Only

**Author's Note:**

> Fic number 3 from the 40-something trope challenge. I've been obsessed with writing a female-centric hero story, and I am all about Malia these days.
> 
> Also, since these all have to be written in one day I wasn't about to go rewatching 3b, so I was relying mostly on memory and wikipedia summaries. If I made any chronological errors please feel free to point them out!

Stiles and Malia got the call that the witch had shown up again around eleven thirty on Friday night. They scrambled out of their little apartment and into the jeep, pausing briefly for Malia to wrestle the keys out of Stiles’s grip. She loved to drive, now that she could.

‘Scott says turn off at Maple and go on foot,’ instructed Stiles, fidgeting in the passenger seat, an old leather book propped up on his knees. ‘She’s behind the Whole Foods, and jumpy as hell.’

Malia wrinkled her nose. ‘Do witches like kale?’

‘Well, they do good coffee too,’ muttered Stiles, leafing through the book, using the light of his phone to illuminate the old, tiny letters.

Malia hated Whole Foods. Too many green things, not enough bloody things. Seven years a human but she still felt the coyote longing for meat whenever Stiles enthused about salads, and other things more suited to rabbits. Malia preferred eating the rabbits.

Well no, she hadn’t eaten a rabbit in _years_ , but sometimes she still thought about it.

‘Uh, Malia? We kind of want to get there in one piece so, um, slow down?’

Malia realised she’d kind of been leaning on the gas. She eased off, looking at Stiles apologetically.

‘Sorry, I was, uh … thinking about something else.’ Damn rabbits.

‘It’s gonna be fine,’ Stiles assured her, obviously thinking that Malia was worried about the witch. ‘I’m sure there won’t be a repeat of last time.’

Malia snorted. ‘Derek’s the one who’s worried about that. I think he’s still blushing about it.’

Stiles snickered. ’Seriously, I’m tempted to tell him he’s off the hook for Christmas presents this year. Hearing him talk in that helium voice for three days was _awesome_.’ He looked eagerly at Malia. ‘Come on, do the voice again.’

Malia rolled her eyes, but smiled. She took a deep breath. ‘ _Guys come on stop laughing this is really serious I have to go to the bank tomorrow come on guys please_.’ She had quite a knack for voices, even helium-enhanced voices, and Stiles cracked up laughing again.

‘Oh man,’ Stiles gasped, wiping his eyes. ‘It would almost be worth him nearly killing us if that happened again.’ Then he sobered. ‘Though if this does go sideways, I wonder what our chances are that it’ll be something else non-lethal.’

Malia flicked the turn signal. ‘Still think the witch is trying to tell us something?’

‘Yeah, I just can’t figure out what,’ Stiles muttered, frustrated. ‘It doesn’t help that she can’t speak English, or any other language Derek or Kira can recognise. And she seemed really put out when Derek ended up all squeaky-voice. Like she didn’t mean for it to happen.’

‘Maybe she was trying to help him speak her language,’ Malia suggested. She didn’t know an awful lot about witches. She didn’t really know much about the supernatural at all, except what she could smell. But seven years of fighting weird shit beside Stiles and the others had given her a front seat to the usual kinds of questions the pack asked themselves when they came up against something new.

‘Maybe,’ agreed Stiles, still reading. He’d been going over spells for days now. They hadn’t exactly found anything that said “This is the thing that will stop the witch from turning you all into toads”, but Stiles figured he had one or two other ideas, at least.

Malia watched him out of the corner of her eye as she drove. He was too thin, too tired. Instead of calming down, the supernatural attacks on Beacon Hills had only been increasing, particularly in the last three years, and they’d all paid the price. Failed exams, cancelled vacations, and far too much stress. Malia didn’t mind it so much, because her job was incredibly easy. She was a cartoonist at the local paper; her art was good, and apparently her humour was “dry and satirical”. She didn’t remember making one single joke in her interview, but she'd gotten the job, so she didn’t complain. Stiles was a journalist there but he struggled, mainly because he spent his life trying to make human stories exciting while running with wolves at night.

Stiles wasn’t the only one feeling the pressure. Seven years was a long time to rely on adrenalin. Scott and Kira were making each other miserable, both too damn nice and noble to admit that they needed to take time off to work on their own lives. Kira was studying law and Scott was a kindergarten teacher, and between that and feeling personally responsible for absolutely everything that went wrong in Beacon Hills, they kept forgetting that they needed to look after themselves too. Malia wanted to knock their heads together, but they were so damn nice that she couldn’t even be mad at them for being idiots.

‘We’re here,’ she announced, parking neatly. ‘Let’s go.’

Stiles kept his head buried in the book all the way down the street and into the woods. Malia kept one hand on his sleeve in case he tripped over a tree root, which Stiles could generally manage all by himself at the best of times. Malia guided him towards Scott and Kira, frowning slightly as she caught the scent of their anxiety. They circled around through the woods to the back of the Whole Foods on the other side. If it came to a confrontation, Malia could see that Scott had planned it so that any backlash would hit the trees, not the building or any passers-by. Probably unnecessary. The witch _had_ looked anxious.

‘Stiles, what if she’s trying to help us?’ Malia asked, tugging him gently out of the way of a tree branch.

‘Huh? What?’ Stiles looked up at her, peering through the darkness.

‘Well you said she looked anxious,’ explained Malia. ‘Like the spell she put on Derek was an accident. What if she’s trying to tell us something important, and that’s why she keeps showing up?’

Stiles thought about this, his eyes flickering around like the did when he was thinking hard.

‘I read about a kind of witch that was supposed to help people in times of great need,’ he said slowly. ‘Some people thought she appeared to people who had done good things. They called her a servant of fate, or a karma witch.’

‘Karma,’ repeated Malia. ‘Seriously?’

‘Not like actual karma,’ Stiles said. ‘She doesn’t have anything to do with Buddhism. This was just how the text explained it. God, this was ages ago, when I was trying to help Lydia figure out Parrish. The witch is attracted to positive disturbances in supernatural wavelengths, and likes to kind of help people who are dedicated to fighting the good fight, so to speak. Really rare though. The text was just speculating. Supposedly there’s only, like, one of them ever, and she was last seen in Cambodia.’

‘And what, she just kind of appears where people are doing a good job and hands out candy? Or helium voices?’ Malia asked, frowning skeptically.

Stiles shrugged. ‘Hey, I didn’t make it up. Come on.’

Scott and Kira had been joined by Lydia and Derek when they arrived. Liam had been given the night off again, probably because he was studying for his final exams and Scott worried that the pressure was getting too much for him. There just weren’t enough people to hold down the fort. Malia eyed Stiles, who was wearing the same shirt he’d been wearing for three days. wishing he could get the night off too every once in a while.

She, however, was feeling fresh. Her claws were already half out as she turned to Scott. ‘What’s the deal?’ she asked, bouncing on her toes.

Scott frowned; he was looking at where the witch was crouched, surveying them all, behind the skips at the back of Whole Foods. ‘Not sure yet,’ he said. Kira had her katana with her, but it was still sheathed; clearly they weren’t too worried. Derek, however, was standing well back, and Malia had to suppress a smile.

The witch was very pale, with black hair tinged with green. Her eyes were violet, and her teeth were sharpened to tiny points. She didn’t look anything like the witches Malia remembered from storybooks she read as a child, but Stiles assured her that she ticked enough boxes for them to safely (or not) assume that she was.

‘She still doesn’t look dangerous,’ Malia remarked frankly, hands on her hips.

‘Speak for yourself,’ Derek muttered from somewhere behind them.

‘Still not getting anything?’ Scott asked Lydia, who was standing with her arms folded, a few steps closer to where the witch was crouched. Lydia’s hair was moving slightly in the breeze, but otherwise she was motionless.

‘Not a thing,’ she said quietly, gaze still trained on the witch, who was muttering to herself and drawing strange symbols on the ground using just her finger. They appeared glowing green on the tarmac, then faded to a more muted glow as her hand passed over them.

‘That looks like a spell,’ Malia said, uneasily. Magic was so confusing and made her skin crawl. She was glad that Stiles only practised preventative stuff, because watching _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ had really freaked her out.

‘Maybe we should all back up,’ Scott advised. Derek was already back at the tree line, Stiles and Kira quickly following. Lydia hadn’t moved, and Malia tugged on Stiles’s hand.

‘Wait,’ she murmured. ‘Lydia.’ Stiles moved forward, but she stopped him. ‘Stay there,’ she instructed. ‘I’ll get her.’ She didn’t have to say that if a spell came flying towards them, Stiles and Lydia were in the best position to figure it out. They’d sorted Derek in three days, although Malia had a feeling that Stiles had let that drag on a _tiny_ bit longer than was strictly necessary.

Malia approached Lydia cautiously, in case she’d slipped into one of her trances. She’d gotten quite good at the whole banshee thing, even though Malia didn’t quite understand her. Sometimes she could pass into a state that she described as something more than the usual human (or werewolf) consciousness. It was a state that she unconsciously tapped into when she sensed death, and now that she was able to do it at will (most of the time), she found that she could sense far more than just death, if she concentrated.

‘Can you hear her?’ Malia asked quietly, standing beside Lydia.

She shook her head. ‘No,’ Lydia replied, just as quietly. ‘But I can sense her. She seems anxious. And … frustrated.’

Malia nodded. She could smell much of the same thing. ‘Think you can still try to communicate from way back there?’

Lydia opened her mouth to respond, but it kept on opening in surprise. Her eyes widened.

‘Get down!’ she yelled.

Malia didn’t wait to see what was happening behind her or in front of her. She grabbed Lydia by the shoulder and shoved her down, seconds before she herself started to crouch. A tremendous heat enveloped her, and in the moment before everything went dark, Malia realised she’d been a second too late.

 

But instead of staying dark, everything went white.

Then Malia saw colour.

 

She saw Kira fighting her parents, begging to be allowed to stay and study in Beacon Hills, even after the berserkers had left her broken and bleeding, and again when a wendigo had bitten off two of her fingers. She’d never been quite as good with her katana after that. When her parents moved back to New York without her, Kira had cried for three days, and then Malia never saw her shed another tear.

 

She saw Lydia, unwilling or unable to return Parrish’s affections. She became closed off, distant, almost aloof. She threw herself into her studies, but never really loved what she was doing, or even liked it. Stiles asked her to explain her research a few times, just to get her talking about it, but Lydia just fingered the arrowhead necklace they’d bought her for graduation and gave minimal responses. Sometimes, Malia wondered how often she went into the banshee state. Lydia smelled cold, and sad.

 

She saw Chris Argent coming back to Beacon Hills one more time, to say goodbye to Scott and Derek. He never found Kate, and he didn’t have the heart to keep trying. He never told them where he was going, but his cell phone disconnected after about a week. Malia remembered Scott and Derek bent over Scott’s phone, foreheads pressed together, as the automated voice told them the number was no longer in service.

 

She saw the sheriff lying in his hospital bed, grumbling about the extended stay and then wincing whenever he thought Stiles wasn’t looking. Four broken ribs and a shattered collarbone, from the same wendigo that had maimed Kira. Malia could smell the panic off Stiles, and felt cold in her heart.

 

She saw Allison’s five-year anniversary. Lydia broke down and threw a bottle of wine across the room, before storming out of Derek’s loft. She didn’t reappear for three days, and when she did, she didn’t say anything about it. Scott barely said two words the whole day, and Kira looked simultaneously uncomfortable and miserable. Liam avoided them all for about a week. Malia held Stiles at night as he trembled himself to sleep, and sometimes when he looked at her, his eyes were like glass. There was no celebrating Allison’s life on that occasion like they normally did, with lots of aconite wine. The unbearable stench of guilt followed them all for days afterwards.

 

She saw Scott, on his knees, body wracked with sobs. Malia had never really known Isaac, apart from occasional background Skype calls, but the overwhelming misery pouring out of her alpha caught her right in the heart. Stiles was stunned, too shocked to move. All he could do was kneel beside Scott and hold him as his sobs turned to howls of misery. Derek had vanished almost immediately, but Malia heard the sounds of agonised destruction of trees not so far away as Liam whined, confused and upset, beside her. Lydia was pale-faced and biting her lip, desperately trying to hold back tears as she finished the phone call with Isaac’s friend in France, on behalf of Scott. Would they have to go to France for the funeral? No, they were bringing his body home to California, to be buried beside his mother …

 

She saw Stiles, doubled over and fighting for breath. He’d found a whole series of notes that he couldn’t remember writing, even though they were dated just two days previous. He spent five minutes staring straight into his reflection in the mirror, glance flickering between his eyes and his hands, muttering feverishly under his breath. Counting. Malia thought for a moment he was counting the seconds, but realised that he was actually counting his fingers. ‘I can’t tell, I can’t tell,’ he whispered brokenly, eyes briefly finding her own in the mirror. ‘I can’t tell.’ His breathing began to shorten, and he nearly stumbled backwards. She caught him and held him and told him to breathe, but it was a long time before Stiles managed it. And a good deal longer before he stopped shaking and passed out in her arms on the bathroom floor.

 

She saw …

A woman in white. Black hair, tinged with green, and bright purple eyes.

_You can change it. If you want._

Then all the light faded.

 

The first thing Malia realised when she woke up was that she was naked.

She was actually quite fond of being naked in general, especially when Stiles was around and they were doing stuff. This however was a slightly more unpleasant experience since she was naked outdoors, lying in the woods.

She twisted around, noticing instantly that her body felt different. Thinner, and not as strong or well-fed. Was she sick?

She sensed Scott almost immediately, and saw him about two seconds later. He was fully wolfed out, and crouched staring at her in amazement. Had she been outside all night? Had the witch transported her?

‘Hey,’ she croaked. ‘What the hell happened?’

Scott was breathing hard, and still looked a lot more surprised than Malia expected. They’d dealt with way weirder shit than this (let’s just say it wasn’t Scott’s first time accidentally seeing Malia naked).

Scott didn’t answer, but she didn’t have time to question him further. She could hear footsteps approaching quickly, from the right. She shuffled around on the ground but didn’t stand. Something felt a bit not-right, and she preferred to stay low and small, in case she was about to become a target. The witch might still be around.

She could smell Stiles, and was instantly reassured, because he didn’t smell scared or anxious - or at least, not in the way he usually did when one of their lives were in danger. It couldn’t be too bad if Stiles wasn’t up to ninety.

But when he scrambled into view from around a cluster of trees, Lydia and his father close behind him, Malia knew instantly that something was extremely wrong. Her thoughts swirled, and for a brief moment she felt dizzy, which was ridiculous. She never got dizzy. She had the best balance out of all of them. What the hell was making her head spin, and how dare it? Her anger dissipated, though, when she took in Stiles’s face. Thoughts began to clunk around in her head as her jaw slowly dropped.

Stiles had made Malia watch _Back to the Future_ twice (because she had insisted on having sex halfway through the first time around). Malia knew the basics of what hypothetical time-travel was about. Most importantly, Malia knew that it never, ever worked out. But unless she was actually still lying in the forest beside Lydia having some brain injury-induced fever dream, then she was absolutely currently seven years in the past, right at the moment when she’d first changed back into a human.

Stiles was, naturally, flailing awkwardly at the sight of her naked body. Lydia’s brief look of amazement had changed to exasperation as she took in Stiles’s futile attempts to be helpful. The sheriff, of course, was shrugging out of his jacket. ‘I got this,’ he muttered, crossing slowly to Malia.

She realised - or remembered? - that he was trying not to spook her.

‘Easy, Malia,’ he said softly. ‘It’s all right, I’m not gonna hurt you. Just take my coat, ok?’ Malia was still slightly numb from the shock, which was probably for the best, but she still seemed to rise a bit quickly for their liking. They all jumped back, hands raised as though she was about to attack. Malia rolled her eyes.

‘I’m fine,’ she said impatiently, holding out her hand for the coat. ‘Gimme.’

The following hushed conference about what to do with her, and the resulting car journey in the back of the sheriff’s cruiser, was enough to stabilise Malia’s thoughts. This, she felt, was extremely inconvenient. Was she gonna have to go through all this again? Worse, would she have to fake it? Surely Stiles or Lydia would get suspicious if she showed absolutely no signs of having been a coyote for most of her life. She’d had to unlearn a lot of bad habits ever since becoming human again, some of which took a strength of will that Stiles still didn’t fully appreciate (this was the guy who still couldn’t stop biting his nails unless Malia pinned him down and made him wear that nasty nail varnish).

She also realised, while sitting in the back of the cruiser, that not all of her memories from her early days of new humanity were pleasant. Stiles had stopped having nightmares, but only in the last two years or so. And even now (or then?), he still got a few sporadic ones when he was particularly stressed out. The pack had gone through a lot. Not just the nogitsune and berserkers, but so many other fucked up whatevers had come out of the woodwork that some weeks it was hard to keep track. The nemeton drew troublemakers, and then they were left to clean up the mess.

And of course, it wasn’t always the monster of the week that was ruining their lives.

She briefly stopped thinking about all these things when she saw her father. Or her adoptive father, anyways. He was drawn and tired looking, but it all melted away when he saw her face, pulling her into a tight hug that felt like it lasted for days. For a moment, Malia drifted happily in the embrace of a parent.

But then the moment ended, and as Malia entered her old home, she remembered why it didn’t work out the first time. Her father was a quiet man, who was never really comfortable with expressing his emotions. As Malia began to attempt to settle in, wandering around her old room and pulling out clothes from the bag sent over by social services - she remembered exactly what she wore that first day - her dad came to hover.

‘So … where were you, Malia?’ he asked with some difficulty, as she pulled a grey sweater over her head. The clothes smelled like other people. She didn’t like them.

Malia remembered how she’d answered the first time, and couldn’t find the energy to figure out how to improve on that. ‘In the woods,’ she muttered, sitting down on the bed. Her brain whirled, though she was abruptly exhausted. Her father’s brow creased.

‘All by yourself? For … eight years?’

Malia sighed. ‘I was with the animals,’ she mumbled. ‘I don’t know. Dad, I’m really tired. I kind of just want to sleep. Can we talk about it tomorrow?’

Her father was shell-shocked enough to let her escape that confrontation. Malia turned off the lights and drew the curtains, though it was only late afternoon. She felt like she could sleep for hours, but once she lay down, Malia found her insides writhing with anxiety.

She rarely felt like this. There was always Stiles, or Scott, or Kira, someone to stand beside her and help her figure out what to do. Or if there wasn’t, she knew she could rely on herself to fight or think her way out of whatever situation she was in. Because Stiles would always come for her. Stiles would never leave her behind, and neither would Scott or Derek, or any of them.

Malia curled up small under the undersized blanket. The bed was one built for a child. Incredibly, some of her scent still lingered on the mattress. It didn’t seem very likely that anyone would come for her now. Especially since her pack was already here. And about to be broken, too. Malia felt fear gnaw at her, and her thoughts chased around her brain like rabbits until she finally drifted off.

 

Instead of feeling better, the next day Malia felt worse. Everything was too confusing. She knew how to control her coyote impulses, knew how to make her claws appear and disappear at will, but her body refused to do it. She was still young, she realised. Or her body was anyways. She felt trapped inside her own skin, and wanted desperately to full shift and run through the woods until she felt like her body was the right shape again - she felt sure that her coyote form would feel the same as always.

But she couldn’t make it happen, and her father paced and worried and begged her to come out of the bathroom as she pulled at her hair and almost cried with frustration. And every so often, her angry buzzing thoughts would abruptly still as the cold realisation that no one was coming for her echoed through her mind.

It took her a while to remember that something similar had happened the first time round. Then, she’d been trying to control the coyote urges, suppress them constantly to the point where she’d become exhausted and then accidentally flip out when her father approached her. This time, her father found her in the car, trying to hot wire it so she could go find Stiles and make him understand. He called Eichen House that evening.

And Malia went. She was about two seconds from wolfing out when the men in the white coats came to get her, but then she remembered. Stiles. Stiles would be at Eichen House, and he would need her help. And maybe he could help her, like he had last time.

Everything about Eichen - the smells, the sounds, the very feel of the air - felt wrong. It had felt wrong the first time, but now Malia was second-guessing everything and everyone. She had to fight the urge to run at Brunski when she saw him bullying some nurses, and skittered backwards from poor, startled Meredith, almost knocking someone over.

‘Woah, sorry,’ she began, and it was a mark of how thrown she was that she didn’t automatically recognise the scent.

‘Hey it’s cool - wait, Malia?’ Stiles’s beautiful big eyes were blinking down at her, confusion warring with pain and sheer exhaustion on his face, and Malia felt like crying. It was all rushing back, the fear and the guilt, and everything she knew that Stiles, this Stiles right here in front of her, would have to go through before he could come out on the other side. She wasn’t even sure if her Stiles had managed it yet. This kid had so much ahead of him, and right now he was sleep-deprived and terrified of the creature that was trying to control him.

But she had to follow the motions. This part had to play out, because what else could Malia do? She didn’t know enough about this part of Stiles’s life. So she played her part. She stole the key from Brunski, and saved Stiles from the locked room so they could go down to the basement together and find the body of the man Mrs Yukimura had hidden there, the nogitsune. Malia felt like she was on stage and didn’t know half of her lines.

Luckily Stiles was too distracted to notice her hesitancy, or maybe he just assumed it was normal for someone who’d spent their entire adolescence as wild animal. But it was intensely uncomfortable; her heart fluttered constantly, like it did when Stiles made her watch horror movies - she didn’t like not knowing where the scare was going to come from. When they kissed, she felt entirely wrong; this wasn’t her Stiles. She’d hardly known him then. They’d both been unhappy and in need of comfort, but now she was unhappy for a whole other reason. She kept opening her eyes and trying to end it, even though all she wanted was to put her arms around him and hold him to her and protect him from the evil she knew lay inside of him. It was so, so hard to push him away. But she did it, ignoring the sting of seeing the look on Stiles’s face; guilt, about pressuring her. God, she should have just gone with it. She’d wanted it so badly the first time around - she wanted it now too, but she couldn’t, knowing what she did. That fucking witch is going down, she snarled internally, watching Stiles apologise and back away, knowing he felt like an asshole.

From there, she could barely concentrate. Being so close to Stiles was throwing her. Every part of her mind recognised him, perfectly, intimately, but her body bristled whenever his arm brushed against hers. It was infuriating; she wanted to shake herself. It’s _Stiles_ , she screamed at herself. Beautiful, wonderful, loving, brave Stiles. Stiles, who would never ever leave her. Who put her first in all things, who let her boss him around and be the big spoon and take his car keys so she could drive his jeep.

The whole situation was jarring and wrong. Her senses were all over the place, adult mind warring with adolescent body, so she didn’t sense the danger until she’d already been whacked over the head. No one, she thought blearily, as her body hit the ground, should have to go through this bullshit twice.

 

When she woke up, it was to the worried face of Marin Morrell.

‘Let’s get you out of here,’ she said, voice calm despite her frown. She helped Malia to her feet, and Malia was too groggy to filter.

‘I’ve gotta get out of here,’ she slurred. ‘I have to help Stiles.’

Morrell looked at her intently. She’d been kind to Malia, both in Eichen and later in life, when she’d returned to Beacon Hills, but Malia still didn’t fully trust her. She didn’t really trust anyone who was so immersed in magic, which is why she’d never fully warmed to Deaton.

‘Yes,’ she said, slowly. ‘I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.’ Morrell’s frown deepened.

‘Yeah, sorry … I’ll go back upstairs. But you need to get me discharged, can you do that?’ Malia knew she could. Fuck this stupid role-playing, she grumbled internally. It was only fun with Stiles.

Morrell didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze was piercing, and Malia felt like she was seeing right through her. She shifted uncomfortably; her head really did hurt.

‘Ok,’ Morrell said at last. ‘Let’s get you out of here.’

If Malia had been thinking clearly, she might have realised sooner that Morrell was on to her. As it happened, she didn’t cop on until she was walking away from Eichen house, her small bag of things on her back. Morrell, somehow, had known Malia wasn’t supposed to be there. Not there, in Eichen house - the first time around, Malia had had to beg and plead for Morrell to discharge her - but rather there, then. It made shivers run up Malia’s spine, and she decided that if she ever got back to the present, she’d avoid Morrell and Deaton even more than she already did.

Thinking about what had happened when she was unconscious made her even more uncomfortable. That thing was inside Stiles right now, driving the bus, only there because Stiles had allowed it in, to save her. Stiles had confessed that after Eichen house, he’d only been in control for very brief moments. Those moments, he said, had been so tightly controlled by the nogitsune that he hadn’t been able to speak up or warn any of them. They’d been moments when the action was abated, when Stiles was standing back as they all figured out what to do about him. Then, the nogitsune would loosen the reigns, just a little. Stiles would be there, fully awake and in control, knowing that if the nogitsune sensed any intent of blurting out his secrets, he’d knock him unconscious quicker than blinking.

And that thing had been down there in the basement with them. She would have died, but for Stiles. That had bothered her much more then than it did now. Now, it was nothing new for them. It was how they lived.

As Malia wandered back into downtown Beacon Hills, she wondered for the first time what the hell she was really doing here. She remembered her conversation with Stiles, and how the witch might be all cosmic rewards and karma. Well, that theory was out the window. Malia caught her reflection in the window of a car, and was startled by how young she was. There was still baby fat on her cheeks, and her hair was much longer and brighter than she wore it now - or then. Or - whenever. She shook her head. She was tired, and hungry.

She knew how to get into Stiles’s house. Maybe she could sneak over there and make a sandwich. If she took the leftover steak she knew usually populated the Stilinski’s, Stiles would think it was the sheriff stealing snacks, and the sheriff would think it was Stiles removing temptation. They’d never know. Her stomach rumbled in agreement, and she turned left automatically. Malia always worked better on a full stomach.

Going to the Stilinski’s however, turned out to be a terrible idea. The house reeked of fear. Stiles’s, mostly, but also the sheriff’s. Night terrors, she discovered later in life, leave a particularly distinctive scent. She tumbled into Stiles’s room and nearly recoiled right back out the window again. She bolted for the stairs, feeling like she was in a haunted house and something was chasing her. There was food in the fridge, steak even, but she grabbed it in her hands and legged it out the back door, without stopping to think that they’d return to find it unlocked. She didn’t stop running until she was safely in the woods, where she could calm down and think.

Malia settled down to the forest floor, feeling the scrape of dry leaves against her legs, and attempted to ground herself. The steak was cold and damp in her hands, but she ignored it for the moment. Scott had taught her how to anchor herself, without using anyone else to lean on, and she’d gotten very good at it. But this stupid young body didn’t want to listen. Her limbs shook and ached to sprout claws and fur and run.

‘Shut up,’ she muttered, angrily. ‘Stop fucking shaking, stop making those noises, _stop_.’ She’d been whining, quite loudly. Her treacherous body was a weak little thing, untrained and wild still. She felt shaky, uncertain, and totally not in control.

She gnawed on the steak to distract herself. It was tough and overcooked, like always, and she was able to think back to the last time Stiles cooked steak. It was three nights ago, and he’d accidentally dropped the whole jar of spices on to it. He’d burned his fingers trying to wipe it off, then dropped the steak on the ground, tripped over it, and ended up sprawled against the cabinets, all before Malia could even raise her head properly to look at him. Her little tornado, cooking up a storm as usual. She’d helped him up, fixed the steak, told him it would taste awesome anyways, and gave him a little kiss for the boo boo. Scott always prided Stiles on his ability to keep going no matter what life threw at him, and Malia did respect that, but she found that a little encouragement went a long way with Stiles. He couldn’t not shine, no matter what he did, but a kiss on the cheek from Malia and he was the goddamn sun.

Remembering Stiles as she knew him was a good decision. Malia blinked up at the midday sun as she finished the rest of the stolen steak, and decided it was time to get her act together. This was a solo mission, as Stiles would say. Bonus experience points if you did it in single player mode, right? Malia thought so. And this, as the sheriff sometimes said when they watched football together, could be a game changer.

The witch, the karma witch. Surely that had been her Malia had heard, right before she woke up. What had she said? Something about change. Could Malia change something? Make something better? She licked her fingers clean, feeling doubtful. Even though she’d been concentrating on riding Stiles’s dick the first time, upon second viewing she definitely absorbed the message of _Back to the Future_. If you fucked things up in the past, you might fuck up your future. There were so many things that she’d like to change, but what if one of them ended up being the butterfly that caused the tornado in China, or whatever the fucking expression was?

She could kill Peter. That would be ideal, and it was the first thing she thought of. Peter had caused them so much strife, escaping Eichen house within a matter of weeks, and going on a rampage so destructive that Liam, Lydia, and even Derek had started to agree with her about getting the hell out of Beacon Hills. Scott and Stiles, of course, would never leave. So they stayed, and they dealt with Peter like the dealt with every other motherfucker who couldn’t sit down and shut up when he was beaten. Malia stopped recognising a single part of herself in Peter. Scott had gently reminded her, with all his beautiful, natural sincerity, that who she was had nothing to do with who had fathered her. She’d dealt with it, and moved on.

But it hadn't been so easy for the rest of them. Derek and Liam, who Peter had terrorised in particular as the best way to get at Scott, had struggled for a long time afterwards. Yes, she decided. Peter wouldn’t be missed by the future. Derek would certainly be happier if that whole six month period of utter madness shortly after Peter escaped from Eichen had never happened.

But was it enough? Was that what she was here for?

Malia heaved herself up off the ground. She still hadn’t quite figured it out, and time was ticking. The sun was now high in the sky; she’d spent more time in the woods than she’d meant to. Wandering the streets of Beacon Hills wasn’t making anything much clearer, but Malia was kind of hoping for inspiration to strike. What was she supposed to do? She had a feeling she’d only get one shot at this, and then - what? Would she be forced to relive everything as she was doing now, and see out the consequences of whatever she changed? Or was there a deadline - was she there to change a specific event? What would happen if she didn’t recognise it, or if she failed?

Malia rubbed her head unhappily. Stiles was the problem-solver, not her. She wasn’t stupid, but sometimes Stiles made connections that simply baffled her, even when he explained. But I was chosen for a reason, she argued with herself. The witch didn’t send Stiles back, she sent me. Surely that meant something? Surely this was something she was in a unique position to do? But it wasn’t until she found herself meandering through a parking lot on Cedar lane that she realised what that was.

Malia had indeed spent a few days wandering around Beacon Hills, sleeping rough, occasionally checking in with her father, before approaching Scott and Stiles. This was partially because she needed to get her head together, but it was also because the timing wasn’t right. Scott hadn’t been in any position to teach her anything for a while. Malia didn’t remember this until she spotted Allison and Isaac checking out what had to be Lydia’s abandoned car.

Malia froze, heart pounding. Her brain spun. This, she realised, is what it’s like to be Stiles. It all made sense now, she realised, as she watched the two mostly unfamiliar figures converse beside Lydia’s car, before driving off. She couldn’t choose something specific to change because shit was always going to happen. What Peter did had been traumatic, but no worse than the wendigo who’d attacked Kira and the sheriff, or the ghoul that had tormented Lydia, or the nogitsune, or the berserkers. She couldn’t single out any one person’s pain (though she’d like to, for Stiles’s sake) because there was always something else happening. It was just the life they lived.

Malia couldn’t change their lives like that. But she could bring two lives back.

Suddenly, she was even more aware of the ticking clock. If she was remembering correctly, Allison would die that very night, at the abandoned internment camp. If Lydia was already missing, then she hardly had any time at all. The pack would arrive, attack the Oni, and Allison would die. She’d heard the abbreviated version from Stiles, but Malia herself hadn’t actually been there. She was the only one who hadn’t been apart from Derek, who’d been unconscious after his fight with Argent, and Liam, who hadn’t yet moved to Beacon Hills.

This was why she’d been chosen. And she could do this. Malia straightened her back proudly. _She could do this_. For her pack, and for everything they had yet to go through.

She spent the rest of the evening circling the internment camp at a safe enough distance that she wouldn’t leave a scent trail. She saw the nogitsune arrive with a barely conscious Lydia, and all her instincts were screaming at her to run to Stiles, to knock that thing out of him. But it wasn’t Stiles, she remembered sadly, watching the two figures disappear inside. It wasn’t even his body anymore. It was a duplicate, a vicious clone that had taken his form and abused it, perverted it, and turned it into something that Stiles would have to face down. He’d have to watch a mirror image of himself die. Malia trembled with fury.

The others finally showed up. It was much later than Malia had thought it would be, and she was cold and hungry and quite frankly miserable. Doubts had begun to cloud her mind, but primarily she was absolutely terrified of failing. She’d spent hours practising semi-shifting, getting her claws to come out when she wanted them to. It was difficult, much more difficult than she’d remembered. Probably because she was so on edge, but also very possibly because the past hated her and wanted her to fail. It didn't want to change.

No, she told herself sternly. You can do this. You can save Allison. You can save them all. She watched Allison, standing tall beside Scott. Can you do it? she wondered, taking in her tall, strong body and determined set of her jaw. Can you help me save them? It was time to find out.

Malia hovered just outside the gates, watching Allison, Kira, and Isaac take on the Oni. She had absolutely no idea when to jump in. At one point Isaac went down, and she nearly moved right then, even though she knew he didn’t die here. Her whole body was quivering, on a knife edge. She had shifted as far as she could, and she was holding it so far, but it was one hell of a fucking effort, especially when she couldn’t devote her concentration to it.

Fuck it, she thought wildly. She couldn’t wait any longer. She sprinted up the lane and through the gates, dodging Oni and everything else that was flying around, her gaze fixed firmly on Allison. As she ran, she saw Allison raise her bow and fire an arrow straight through the Oni that was attacking Isaac. A cold swoop of fear hit Malia like a punch; this was it, she just knew it.

She beat the Oni to Allison, just. Neither of them saw her coming. She body-slammed Allison to the ground, not caring about broken bones or bruises, just that the katana sliced over their heads and into the wall behind them. Malia’s hand reached for the quiver that was now scattered beside them. She grabbed a silver-tipped arrow as the Oni adjusted its position above them. She couldn’t quite reach from where she was sprawled over Allison, so she took a chance and flung the arrow. It pierced the Oni just like the one Allison had fired. Malia ducked her head away from the sickly yellow light that poured from its ruined form, sheltering Allison with her body.

When she looked up, the Oni were disappearing. Scott and Lydia staggered out of the building, dragging an apparently lifeless Stiles with them, yelling that the nogitsune had escaped. Allison was struggling away from Malia, who was in no position to stop her; the sight of Stiles’s body between Lydia and Scott had her pinned more effectively than any arrow.

‘We can follow them!’ called Allison, after a brief, puzzled glance at Malia. She rushed over to Lydia, apparently no worse for wear after Malia had knocked her to the ground. ‘Silver can kill the Oni. I don’t know how we’ll find them, but …’

Malia stopped listening. She gathered her legs beneath her and stood, wincing. All she could see was Stiles, his head lolling to one side.

‘You saved my daughter.’ Malia spun, and found herself facing Chris Argent, a man she’d had almost as little contact with as Allison.

‘It was nothing,’ Malia muttered, looking back to Stiles. There were more than a few curious looks being directed at her now as Scott and Lydia surveyed the scene. Isaac was getting to his feet, helped by Allison, and suddenly Malia felt like she was back on stage again, scriptless. What the hell, she thought. I’ve come this far.

‘I know where you can find the nogitsune,’ she said. ‘And I know how you can kill it.’

 

Malia had a harder time than she thought convincing them that she knew what she was talking about. Allison in particular was very skeptical of Malia’s story. Malia figured that telling them the nogitsune had possessed her too in Eichen house, thereby allowing her a glimpse at its plans, would be easier to swallow than ‘I’m from the future, and it sucks’.

But once Stiles woke up, things took a turn for the better. He couldn’t understand what the delay was.

‘She’s telling the truth,’ he said, frowning at them all. Scott kept trying to push him back down into a horizontal position on the couch, but he naturally continued to struggle upright. ‘Why would she be lying? She saved me, like, twice. Scott, let me up, let’s go.’

He was a sight for sore eyes, but Malia couldn’t let herself focus on Stiles too much. She knew how his part ended in all of this, but that wasn’t what worried her. Malia wasn’t sure she had any part to play in this next bit, but she kept glancing at Isaac and Allison all the same. Had she saved them from the Oni only for them to die at the school? Wouldn’t that be a gigantic cosmic joke. She was determined to tag along, if only to protect her investments. Already she was ticking off all the things that probably wouldn’t happen because Allison was alive. Kate, for one thing, wouldn’t have a reason to go on the rampage (she hoped, anyways). And Lydia hadn’t screamed in agony as she felt her best friend die, so Meredith wouldn’t trigger the dead pool (again, she hoped). It was a hell of a start, but the fact that Malia hadn’t instantly been transported back to her present was cause for concern. Would Isaac still have cause to go to France and die at the hands of renegade hunters? Would Malia have to follow him there? She certainly hoped not. She hated hot weather.

But she needn’t have worried. She knew how it all went down inside, so she hung out in the school grounds fighting Oni like it was her job. They were nasty, and her claws kept slipping away at the worst possible time, but somehow whenever she happened to be vulnerable like that, the Oni would turn away, or their sword would miss, screeching on the concrete. Malia had a hunch - and she wasn’t racing to prove it - that she was immune in this when.

‘You are incredibly lucky!’ one of red-haired twins called to her in amazement, as she rolled away from yet another blade.

‘Thanks,’ she called back. ‘Who are you again?’

The boy frowned at her, which was unfortunate, because if he’d been paying attention he probably would have dodged the blade that pierced his stomach.

Things skittered to a halt after that. The Oni were gone, but Malia remained. She watched Derek and the other twin hunch over the dying werewolf, as Isaac ran off to the school with Allison. Malia felt cold. Had she caused that? Was it always going to happen? Or was she supposed to save him too? The possibility that she’d completely missed this other death crashed down upon her, and she backed up almost to the steps, wanting to run but unable to leave. If this fucking kid whose name she hadn’t even _known_ was the one thing that fucked up all her efforts, that witch had better pray Malia didn’t find a way back to her present.

He spluttered and coughed and choked on his own blood, and Malia had to sit down on the steps. Either way, she felt like this was her fault. It felt pretty fucking bad. Slightly more worrying was the fact that she was still here. Nothing had changed, even though technically everything had changed. Allison presence was evidence of that. Malia watched her hugging a distraught Lydia on the top steps, and wondered when her job would be done.

The pack was hugging now, clapping each other on the shoulder and leaning down to pick up the fallen werewolf. Even Argent was there, helping, comforting, hugging his daughter. Malia backed away slowly, until they were out of sight. They didn’t even notice her leaving.

She'd thought she’d feel triumphant, but she only felt exhausted. As she wandered through the woods, she wondered what would happen next. Could she carry on with this charade of pretending to be a terrible werecoyote when actually she was a rather good werecoyote? Or she would be very soon, if her body would stop being such a butthole about it. She wouldn’t need to learn anything, she’d just have to practise, and surely that wouldn’t take long. Would Scott expect her to want lessons? Would he be suspicious if she didn’t? Surely Stiles would. Nothing got past Stiles (apart from the times Malia cheated in Halo, but that was only because she was too quick for him). Malia moodily kicked a tree. She deserved a damn victory party here. She’d saved the day!

‘I saved the day!’ she angrily told the tree. The tree didn’t care, though. Malia sighed, and flopped to the ground.

‘This sucks,’ she muttered. The pack were probably celebrating, or at least commiserating. They’d be together, that was for sure. Maybe Derek would even be there. Malia suddenly felt very lonely. She tried to sleep under the tree she’d assaulted, but she couldn't manage it. It was a dry night, and she didn’t feel as cold as a human would have, but she tossed and turned and growled at the roots poking her in the back. Her body was exhausted, but her brain stormed on.

What if she really did have to do this all over again? It would be fine, she supposed. I mean, wouldn’t it be nice to fall in love with Stiles all over again? Go through all their little firsts again; the first time they’d had sex, the first time they’d watched _Star Wars_ and Malia hadn’t fallen asleep, the first time she’d made Stiles come untouched, just by masturbating in front of him. All good memories.

Malia smiled a little as she remembered how Stiles had been so confused by some of her habits. She liked to wander around while she brushed her teeth, examining things and fixing her shoes, brushing away all the while. Stiles couldn’t even scratch himself while he brushed his teeth, or he drooled everywhere. So Malia had tickled him. Just for fun. And the pictures were still worth it.

Malia found herself crawling to her feet. She made her way back out on to the road, picking up speed until she was running. What was she doing, pretending she wanted to do this any other way than beside Stiles? If that was the price she had to pay - if fixing the pack meant making sure Allison and Isaac stayed alive - then she’d pay it. She’d pay it every day for the next seven years until she caught up, and every day after that if she had to.

She climbed through Stiles’s window and landed with a soft thump. Stiles was a motionless lump in the bed under about five blankets, and didn’t stir, even when she crawled under the blankets with him. Gently, she wrapped one arm loosely around his thin waist. She remembered the first time she’d done this, how he’d flipped out when she’d accidentally scratched him (totally his fault - he’d startled her). She pressed her chin to his bony shoulder, feeling the knots of tension there, and even though she felt incredibly lonely, at least here she wouldn’t be alone. No matter what she’d changed by coming back here, by finding herself in Stiles’s bed earlier than she’d originally done it, Stiles wouldn’t turn her away.

Stiles sighed slightly in his sleep, and one arm came up to touch Malia’s. She froze, thinking that they were about to have a confrontation, but instead, Stiles just tucked himself a bit more securely into Malia’s embrace. Malia didn’t get emotional and cry about stupid things like hugs and her future partner’s past self accepting her in even his sleep. She absolutely did not. She wasn’t that kind of person. But maybe that was future Malia. Maybe she had to be past Malia here, and past Malia might just be prone to a tear or two before she drifted off to sleep.

 

Malia woke to bright sunlight, and a sense of supreme comfort. It took her a minute to realise that this was because she was sleeping on the superior mattress that she had fought Stiles for the right to purchase because he was a cheap son of a bitch. Right on the heels of this realisation came _I’m back_.

She sat bolt upright, and a sleepy complaint came from the beautiful, well-fed, healthy man beside her. Even in sleep, Stiles looked fucking radiant. Sure, there were a few shadows under his eyes, but they looked normal, not the bruises Stiles usually wore. He was sprawled everywhere, instead of curled into a tight little ball.

Malia blinked a few times, feeling euphoria rising up inside her like a fucking wave. She looked around their small bedroom. It looked mostly the same as it was supposed to, but there were a few differences that she spotted almost immediately.

There was a photo of Scott and Isaac on the wall, and it was recent, judging by the star tattoo on Scott’s shoulder. Malia rose to inspect it, and Stiles rolled over, mumbling. A smile tugged at her lips as she slowly started to believe it.

The picture wasn’t the only thing. There was a light blue, slightly creased sheet of heavy card folded once on Stiles’s laptop. Malia opened it, and could only make out Allison’s name, and Isaac’s. The rest was elaborately curled writing, apart from where someone had printed her name and Stiles’s in a neat hand beside the curly RSVP. Malia replaced the card and opened Stiles’s laptop on a hunch, tapping at the touchpad to light it up. Her breath caught in her throat.

It was almost the exact same pack photo that Stiles had taken two years ago, when they’d all gone paint balling. But the people in it were so different that for a moment Malia felt utterly thrown. There in the middle were herself and Stiles. The only couple without their arms around each other, they were wrestling for the trophy their team had won. Stiles was smushing paint in her face, and Malia was doubled over, trying to get the trophy off him. She smiled through her tears (early morning tears, she’d yawned a few times, that was all) as she took in the rest of them. Scott and Kira, smiling shyly at the camera, holding hands. Derek behind them, looking exasperated (and by far the one covered in the most paint) but happy. Braeden was there with him, barely a drop of paint on her, and Parrish too. He had his arm around Lydia, who looked so different Malia almost didn’t recognise her, completely chill and relaxed, an easy smile on her face. Liam and Mason were posing in front, laughing and looking thrilled with themselves.

Allison and Isaac were at the back, smiling at each other, as though one of them had quietly told a joke just before the photo had been taken. Something in Malia’s heart clunked into place, and she felt an almost overwhelming sense of contentment.

‘Hey, you up?’ Stiles’s voice was sleep-heavy. ‘The wedding’s not until, like, three.’

Malia glanced up at the beautiful blue dress hanging off their busted wardrobe doors, and smiled. ‘Thought I’d take in the view,’ she responded, turning to look at Stiles, who was still sprawled half-naked on the bed.

‘It is a good one,’ he agreed, looking down at his typical morning wood. Suddenly Malia was very hungry, but not for steak this time.

She pounced, ignoring his comments about morning breath and the early hour. She kissed him passionately, straddling his hips and grabbing his face. Stiles made startled happy noises and kissed her back, grinding up against her. Malia usually loved foreplay - she loved hours and hours of foreplay - but right now she felt like she might fall apart if she didn’t have Stiles. She needed something to blow her mind. She needed that tiny confirmation that this wasn’t all going to slip away the next time she went to sleep.

Offering up a tiny prayer of thanks to the witch, wherever she might be, she whipped her pyjama top off over her head and flung it away. She just as quickly shimmied out of her bottoms and pulled down Stiles’s boxers, ducking her head to take his cock into her mouth.

‘You are the best girlfriend ever,’ sighed Stiles, like he did almost every time.

‘Mmm,’ Malia replied, as she lapped at his cock. She knew every single damn inch of it. She could probably draw a detailed map of it, colour-coding it according to the places that made Stiles yelp the loudest. But right now it was like new to her, and she was going to savour it.

‘Shit … oh god, Malia,’ Stiles breathed, fingers tangling in her hair and pulling deliciously. ‘I am so weak in the morning. I am a lesser being. God you’re so good,’ he gasped, almost bucking off the bed and down her throat when her fingers found his balls. Malia breathed through her nose calmly, trying to get as much of Stiles into her mouth as she could. When she felt his balls tighten in her hands - always a warning sign - she drew back, grinning at the barrage of whines and complaints.

‘God please get up on this,’ begged Stiles. ‘I fucking need you, Malia.’

She paused, as though she was considering it, smiling coyly up at Stiles. This time it was Stiles’s turn to pounce. He sat up suddenly, grabbing her and pinning her down. She shrieked with delight, laughing as Stiles attacked her with kisses. He pressed his lips to her mouth, her neck, her breasts, worshipping her body like he was the one who’d been away. He licked her nipple and then caught it with her teeth, and she hissed, grabbing his ass with her fingers and digging in. She was getting wet now, and impatient.

‘Come on Stiles,’ she said, pushing up against him. ‘Fuck me.’ She wrapped her thighs around his waist, grinding up against his cock, as he tugged on her nipple gently, squeezing her breasts. ‘Fuck me.’

‘Mm, maybe,’ replied Stiles, and their bodies shook with laughter against one another. Which did _really_ interesting things in terms of how they were almost connected, and the laughter was quickly smothered by mutual groans. Stiles sucked a ruthless hickey into her breast, making Malia groan and writhe and grab his hair. His hands then slid down her body, squeezing and caressing, until they found her ass. He kneaded with his fingers, making her yelp and curse him out of it, before slipping one inside of her. Malia hissed, trying to thrust against the pressure, but he held her back firmly with his other arm. Stiles was good with his mouth, but right now all Malia wanted to do was get fucked hard.

He slipped another finger inside, then another, stretching Malia easily. She was soaking, but it still burned deliciously. She panted, grinding herself on to his fingers, curling her own in his hair. Sweat beaded her temples as the room filled with their heavy breathing and tiny noises. Well, tiny for now. Malia liked to get _loud_.

‘Fuck, I need more of you,’ moaned Malia. ‘God, I need all of you. Fuck me Stiles, please.’

Stiles trembled above her, scissoring his fingers roughly inside her until she shrieked, clenching down on him. She was so close, but he drew back, like always, because he was an _asshole_ , but also because he knew how she liked it best.

She whimpered at the loss of contact, but immediately felt the head of Stiles’s cock press against her. She braced herself, staring into Stiles’s eyes, so intense she felt like she was falling. Then Stiles slammed into her, and her head flew back, a groan punched out from between her lips. Stiles drew back quickly, and immediately thrust into her again. He set a punishing pace, slamming his hips into her, drinking down her gasps and cries as he fucked her. The rough rhythm pushed their bodies upwards on the bed, until Malia was pressing her hands against the headboard and howling.

Stiles’s hands were everywhere, one thumb rubbing her clit and the other massaging her breasts, squeezing in time to his thrusts, which were becoming messy and ruthless as he chased his own high. Malia could hardly make a coherent sound; her breath came in short gasps that sometimes sounded like Stiles’s name, sometimes just a babble between ‘Oh god’ and ‘harder’. Her whole body was on fire as Stiles thrust into her, fingers stimulating every part of her, rubbing her clit in fast, gentle circles, until the fire that had built up inside of her was uncoiling in her belly, spreading out through her limbs and knocking her almost senseless. She came with a helpless cry, spasming and clenching as Stiles fucked her through it. His finger disappeared from her clit as she became sensitive very quickly, and he pulled out only so he could roll her on to her side before sinking back in again. He was still rock hard, and he held her close and pressed kisses to her neck as he fucked into her, fast and hard, hips bucking into her ass with an almost bruising force until he was coming inside her, face pressed into her neck to muffle his own cry of pleasure.

They sagged against each other, sweat-drenched and barely conscious. Stiles, Malia realised happily, had almost fucked the last two days out of her. She had a half-formed thought about how the witch would have to literally kill her next time if it wanted her to go back in time again, but it was lost in her love’s embrace, as they drifted back to sleep.

 

Of course they were nearly late for the wedding. Stiles ate Malia out in the shower, and she blew him while they were making coffee.

It was the mark of a well-trained man that Stiles didn’t question Malia’s sudden desire to be having sex literally 90% of the time. He just went with it, holding her bag for her while she did her makeup, and fixing the strap on her heels when she couldn’t reach it, kissing her calf as he did so.

Even though it was Allison and Isaac’s wedding, Malia barely saw them. She watched out for them though \- every time she noticed a splash of white, she’d swivel her head towards it and make sure they were still alive, still standing - but they were always surrounded by crowds of friends and loved ones, knowing there'd be a private pack celebration later. At one point, after Malia had hugged Allison congratulations, she thought something flickered uncertainly in Allison’s eyes as she smiled her thanks. But then it was gone, and Allison looked wonderfully happy again. Malia passed on to Isaac, who didn’t notice anything, and breathed a small sigh of relief that it wasn’t going to be an issue. At least not today.

But mostly, Malia watched the pack. Her pack. The photo on Stiles’s laptop had been amazing, but seeing it played out in real life was a whole other kind of high. Everyone was so light, so happy. Sure, there was some discussion of a potential pack of kelpies that were wandering around the river, but it was light. Speculative. Even a bit exciting. Malia held Stiles’s hand and felt immeasurably proud. Not just of her friends, but of her self. She’d figured this out, after all. Maybe she’d even tell Stiles about it one day. But for now, she was content just to know it herself. She could look at her friends and know that she helped them get here, just as much as Allison and Isaac. 

The sun set on the wedding as the couples took to the dance floor. Malia danced with Stiles (her leading, of course), but couldn’t stop smiling at everyone else as they twirled by.

‘Are you drunk?’ asked Stiles curiously. ‘Or high? I won’t be mad.’ 

Malia rolled her eyes. ‘I’m just happy,’ she explained, smiling at him. She stroked his face, his stupid, beautiful face that was so dear to her she’d have crawled back through seven exhausting years just to find it again. ‘I’m happy that I’m here with you.’ 

Stiles beamed at her. ‘Well, gee,’ he said softly. ‘I never knew.’ 

They kissed softly under the twinkling fairy lights, their happiness enveloping them like a warm blanket. The band were playing a slow song that even Malia recognised. 

‘Hey, we’ll have to find something else to do on Wednesday nights until Allison gets back from Aruba,’ Stiles commented a few moments later. 

Malia frowned. ‘What do you mean?’ 

Stiles raised his eyebrows. ‘Archery,’ he reminded her. ‘Come on Malia, you were doing so well.’ 

Malia blinked. ‘We do archery now.’ 

Stiles was frowning. ‘Are you sure you’re not drunk?’ he asked. 

Malia sighed, wondering what else she’d missed. 

‘Is there something you’re not telling me?’ Stiles asked, looking confused. 

Malia smiled, and shook her head.  ‘Nah,’ she said easily. ‘I was just thinking about how disappointed you’ll be when I kick your ass in archery.’ 

Stiles grinned. ‘Please, you’ll be eating my dust, Malia.’

‘I wish I could eat something. I’m starving,’ Malia said suddenly. ‘Do you think we could order take out if we’re quiet about it? I’m sure we’re not the only ones who are hungry, that meal wouldn’t have fed a sparrow.’ 

Stiles’s body shook with laughter, and Malia relaxed into him again. So, there were some changes. But it was nothing she couldn’t handle. She was, after all, pretty good at single player mode.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [coulsonsangels](http://coulsonsangels.tumblr.com/) on tumblr
> 
> My play count for "Boom Clap" by Charli XCX went through the roof for this. Malia's a fucking hero, "a storm in short shorts" (s/o to [Alfie](http://unfortunatelyderek.tumblr.com/) for that gorgeous description) and don't ever let anyone tell you different


End file.
